


Golden Hair, Silver Tongue

by HewerOfCaves



Series: B2MeM 2019 Stories [9]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Friends to Enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 21:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18290249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HewerOfCaves/pseuds/HewerOfCaves
Summary: Celegorm’s grin widened, but his eyes blazed in anger. “So dramatic,” he said harshly, “Maybe there is something Noldorin in you after all. Throwing the crown away was also a good move. It won you ten people. If you wept and tore off your hair, you could have ten more.”Finrod and Celegorm have one last conversation before Finrod leaves Nargothrond.Written for Back to Middle Earth Month.Complexities of CelegormO64: CousinG50: OratorO70: Nargothrond (not crossed out yet)





	Golden Hair, Silver Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Not a native speaker, not beta'd.

If not for the hair and the eyes, Finrod would think that it was Fëanor come again. His cousin had his father's fire, his father's mannerisms, even his father's words. Finrod knew then that he would lose. Just like Finarfin his father and Fingolfin his uncle had lost when Fëanor had urged the Noldor to rebel, Finrod was helpless against the power in Celegorm’s speech. 

For a moment, Finrod himself was almost convinced to abandon his quest. Fëanor had once put the dream of vast and green lands of Middle-earth in his mind, and now his son was close to persuading him to keep out of the way of their Oath, to delay his inevitable death, to stay and keep his people safe. Then he saw Beren, his look hopeful and a little unsure, and knew that death would find him no matter what he did. He would not be able to continue living, knowing that he had let Beren go alone to meet his end, that he had not kept his word to Barahir to whom he owed his life. He might be a doomed rebel, a king defeated in his own hall, but Finrod son of Finarfin was no coward.

\---

He sent his eleven companions to get a few hours of sleep before they would set out. He was eager to be gone, unable to bear the mocking or pitying looks he was greeted with. Orodreth had just left too after unsuccessful attempts to beg Finrod to stay and to keep the crown.

“I don’t want it,” he had said, “I will be king only in name. Fëanor’s sons will rule here and scorn me.”

Finrod had looked him in the eyes and told him that he believed in him. He had hugged him, bid him farewell with a smile and promised to return soon. He had turned away from Orodreth’s hopeful look. 

All he wanted now was one hour of quiet. He knew peace was out of the question. The events of the day were playing in his mind. He wondered if there was something he could have said or could have done to tip the scales in his favor. Could he have found something to counter Celegorm’s fervor or Curufin’s poison? He knew he shouldn’t be surprised, he should have been expecting it from those who had once turned their swords against their kin (against Finrod’s own blood) and had abandoned their friends, but it still stung. He had been close enough with the brothers back in the carefree days in Valinor. They had always been highly competitive, but never malicious. They had hunted and sung together, had teased each other and laughed. Even when the relationship between Fëanor and Fingolfin had worsened, Finrod had kept in contact with his cousins despite Turgon’s obvious displeasure. He had welcomed them in Nargothrond warmly, had made sure their needs were met, and they had repaid him by turning his people against him, stripping him of his power by mere words as easily as they would break the neck of a hare. 

He heard someone approach his door and groaned. There would be no reprieve for him today. 

Celegorm entered without knocking, wearing the same smile he had when leaving the halls. Finrod started wondering if kinslaying wasn’t one of Fëanor’s better ideas.

“Oh, King Felagund, I didn’t know you were still here,” Celegorm said.

He was speaking in Sindarin. It wasn’t because of any respect for Thingol’s order, but simply because Celegorm had a great talent for languages and was instinctual in his adoption of whatever language prevailed in his surroundings. Finrod remembered that sometimes he had tried to communicate in growls or whistles after weeks spent alone in the woods. Once it could have made Finrod smile.

“You knew it very well, Tyelkormo,” he said in Quenya and was pleased to see the tiny twitch of a muscle in his cousin’s cheek, “Otherwise you would not be here. Why have you come? To gloat of your treachery and evil?”

Celegorm’s grin widened, but his eyes blazed in anger. “So dramatic,” he said harshly, “Maybe there is something Noldorin in you after all. Throwing the crown away was also a good move. It won you ten people. If you wept and tore off your hair, you could have ten more.”

“Thank you for the advice, I don’t think it will be useful,” Finrod said, “If that is all you have come for, you may take your leave.”

“You are not a king to command me,” Celegorm said, “Pay attention, we were just discussing your abdication.”

Celegrom had never been able to get under his skin because Finrod had always seen his jabs for what they were: tough love or defense mechanism. But it hurt this time. He knew he was sporting ugly pink blotches on his cheekbones. He stood up as regally as he could.

“Very well, I will leave myself, I have no time for the likes of you.”

It wasn’t an escape, he told himself, he owed Celegorm nothing. He kept his eyes on his cousin’s face as he walked to the door, but he was still startled when Celegorm grabbed his arm.

“Findaráto, you do realize we had to resort to these means, don’t you?” he asked, “We swore an oath to Ilúvatar himself. We will not let anyone else claim a Silmaril.”

“I swore an oath to a man,” Finrod said. He tried to pull his arm away, but Celegorm didn’t release him. “But I will break it no more you will break yours.”

“You will die if you go.”

“That will be just what you want. Because this isn’t only about the Silmarils, is it? You want my kingdom. You want Nargothrond. Well, you have it now. Go and enjoy the fruits of your betrayal. What are you still doing here?”

“I want to make sure you realize that there is no right or wrong here,” Celegorm said, “This is not Aman, where I could shoot a deer and let you take it home to boast to your father. This is wilderness. We build cities and pretend to keep the traditions from before, but we live by the rules of the wild. Everyone is on their own, Findaráto, we all do what we can to come out on top because that’s the only way to survival.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?” Finrod asked bitterly, “I do not play by those rules.”

“That’s why you lost,” Celegorm said.

“We are all going to lose. We are doomed and cannot escape it. You will lose too. Maybe you will get your Silmarils, though I don’t see how, but you will lose.”

Celegorm shook his head in exasperation. “I have come here to speak to you frankly, but you cannot see anything from your high horse.”

“You have come here to ease your conscience,” Finrod said, “You want me to tell you that I understand. You want me to absolve you of your guilt. You want to have no part in my death.”

“Yes, and what?” Celegorm cried, “You cannot tell me that you don’t understand, that you don’t know we cannot break our Oath. You cannot tell me it is our fault you are walking to your doom with your eyes wide open.” 

Finrod was surprised to see a tear slide down his face. 

“I never wanted it to come to this,” Celegorm continued, “You believe me, Findaráto, don’t you?”

His fingers dug deeper into his cousin’s arm. Finrod knew it was true, but it _had_ come to that and Celegorm had made no effort to avoid it. His passionate speech was still ringing in Finrod’s ear, the powerlessness he had felt then still made his cheeks burn in shame.

“No,” he said. He wrenched his arm away from his cousin’s grip. “Farewell, Celegorm.”


End file.
